


Chocolate

by Secretmonkey



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: Amy and Lauren living together, Amy angst, COOPERFELD, F/F, Karma sees the light, Kitchen Sex, Post Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretmonkey/pseuds/Secretmonkey
Summary: Amy and Lauren are a couple and living together in Farrah's old house. Except, no one knows they're together. So what happens when Karma decides to make a play for her best friend's heart (and other parts)? Cooperfeld and possibly smutty.





	1. Well, Shit

The first time Karma kisses you, well…

It's the first time  _she_  kisses  _you_. There's no crowd of cheering students (though, to be  _fair_ , that was  _you_  kissing her and it  _was_ just for show.) There's no Liam staring and no cheap motel room ambiance and you're not in lingerie (though,  _again_ , to be fair, that was more a  _for him_  kiss than a cause she  _wanted to_   _kiss_ but tell that to your  _heart_ , then  _or_  now) and she's not even drunkenly moving on you in a pool (though… well… yeah… you got nothing for  _that_  one.)

That one was just fucked up.

Which makes it different from this one, how?

The first time  _Karma_ kisses  _you_ , you're standing in the kitchen of your mother's house, a carrot in one hand and a bowl in the other. You're on dip duty,  _supposed_  be cutting up the veggies and mixing up a little hummus or a bit of ranch or a smidge of whatever there is that you've got in the fridge which, you know, would be so much easier to do if you weren't pinned up against it.

"Get some snacks," Lauren told you, hustling you off to the kitchen, as she played hostess and welcomed the early arriving guests (Shane and Karma, both on a break from college, along with Shane's boyfriend of the week and some girl from Lauren's Econ class and Felix (!) and did you mention  _Karma_?) "Some healthy ones, so not your usual kind, ones that only  _you_ can eat and not gain a pound."

So, you know, no chips (damn) and no bacon ( _double_  damn) and absolutely no doughnuts (and  _that's_  just a fucking  _sin_.)

Hence, the carrot.

And also hence the box of doughnuts that Lauren tried to hide in the cupboard behind the jumbo jug of protein powder for her morning shake, the one place she thought  _you_ would never go and look, but it's been over a year now, of living here together and you've learned her tricks.

And taught her a few new ones.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves  _and_  let's  _definitely_  not think about  _that_ , especially not when there's someone  _else's_ tongue in your mouth and hands gripping your hips and starting to drift (just a bit) and oh… Karma's an  _aggressive_  one isn't she?

You don't know what to think about  _that_. (Though certain parts of you do seem to have some...  _ideas_.)

Anyway… truth is, that Lauren's rubbed off on you too (and not like that) (not  _just_  like that) which means that yes, you  _are_  serving the doughnuts - assuming that you ever manage to make it out of the kitchen and that's kind of a  _big_ assumption right this second - but you've at least arranged them neatly, on your best serving plate (Lauren said that's the one) (for you, best equals paper or styrofoam, as in take out, and even with a tongue in your mouth and now a hand on your ass, you know either of  _those_  would be a bad bad  _bad_  idea) and it's sitting on the counter, waiting to be passed among the guests. Fine china and eleven fine doughnuts.

Yes.  _Eleven_.

Karma didn't come into the kitchen  _with_ you - though she seems intent on making a solid effort at making you come  _with her_  (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) - and so you had a minute or two while you were finding the carrots in the fridge (you were supposed to know that the veggies had their own drawer?) and so there's a chance that one of the doughnuts (#12 in the box and #1 in your heart) might have slipped from the plate and ended up in your mouth.

Maybe.

Possibly.

No one can  _prove_  it. Especially since, no, there isn't a single bit of sugary evidence linking you to missing number twelve, not so much as a fleck of powder dotting your lips.

And yes, you know that might  _not_  be true for  _Karma's_  lips (not  _now_ ) and you really should check that - with your  _eyes_  and not your  _tongue_  - and you'll totally get right on that. As soon as  _those_  lips aren't attached to  _your_  lips and that should be any second now.

Any second.

Any one.

Maybe this one.

Or, perhaps this one.

Or… now?

Or, you know, maybe  _not_.

The first time Karma kisses you, you're legit surprised - like to your  _core_ , like you find yourself a bit… shooketh - at her staying power. Realistically, you know that this kiss isn't  _actually_  lasting as long as it feels (forever, it feels like  _forever_ ) and, also  _realistically_  (which tends to fly out the window around Karma) (not that there's windows in the kitchen) ( _so_  not the point) you know this is all kinds of a bad idea and not  _just_  because of who could walk in on you.

Like Lauren, just as an  _example_.

That would be  _bad_.  _So_  bad, so  _past_  bad that you're not sure there's a word for it. Like death glares for the rest of the night and even after everybody else leaves you still have to live with her (though you'll probably become intimately reacquainted with  _your own_  bed) and you will spend weeks (minimum) living with the sound of her crying herself to sleep down the hall, in your mom's old room.

The one you've been sharing.

For a year and a fucking  _half_  and yes, the 'half' of it does make it  _worse_  especially the  _last_  half, the most  _recent_  half, six months since you whispered those three words in her ear while she slept, you know, those ones you've both been pretending she  _didn't_ hear and (almost) no one else even suspects and so, technically, you're not doing anything wrong right now.

Technically.

Yeah. That'll help.

And if it's not Lauren who walks in? Then how about Shane?

Do we need to go into all the ways  _that_  would suck? Do we need to take a walk down 'lesbian energy' memory lane or think about that summer when  _they_ (you totes know  _which_  'they' you mean) became… ugh…  _friends_. Maybe we should revisit their band?

And maybe we should get a root canal without novocain while giving birth without an epidural while listening to Farrah tell us - in  _great detail_  - about why Felix would be so perfect for you.

Oh. And then there's  _him._ Cause if not Lauren and if not Shane?

Then it  _would be_  him. Karma's ex (and  _God_ … her taste in  _men_ ). He's Ambien in human form, and him walking in and seeing the last two girls he was involved with making out, in the kitchen, one of them holding a carrot (which we all know is the most  _boring_  veggie of all the veggies, so plain and nondescript and… orange) (it's Felix with a spray tan) and oh, all the places his mind would go.

Likely, all of those places would be somewhere near the bottom of a bottle and you  _really_ don't want to be responsible for that ( _again_ ) and so that's just one more reason (as if you need  _more_ ) why this is such a bad idea.

And if you do? If the thoughts of each and every one of the people who could walk in on you and Karma isn't  _enough_ (and yes, you're not counting cute Econ girl with the purple dyed hair or Shane's boy toy) (and you're allowed to  _think_  cute cause you're…  _involved_ , not  _dead_ ) then how about this?

_This_  is Karma.  _This_  is Karma  _and_  you. And those two things + kisses + your mother's house have never equaled anything good. You, her, and a pool, that ringing any bells? For the next  _year_ , every time you smelled chlorine it was totes touch and go whether you were gonna puke or have the insatiable need to fuck the nearest non-Felix attractive person.

Sabrina  _loved_  taking you to the county pool. But that's a whole  _other_  story...

And - back to  _this_  story - let's be  _real_. Those same two things + those same kisses, even  _minus_  your mother's house (the one you've been  _sharing_  - intimately - for  _forever_ ) have never equaled even the tiniest bit of good.

Unless you count awakening you to your sexuality. Which led to the toast from Hell and then to the mother of all heartbreaks, so ( _again_ ) not good. But… that also lead to Reagan.

(mmm… Reagan.)

But, to be  _fair_ , that  _also_  lead to the mother of all heartbreaks (you've had like  _six_ dads, why can't your heartbreaks have  _two_ moms?) so,  _see_ , no good. But that lead to your summer on the road which certainly had its ++++'s, but also lead to weeks of fighting with Karma, so lots of - - - - 's too. But  _that_  lead to you bonding with Lauren.

Like  _sisters_.

Which, you're pretty sure, would make almost every single thing you did last night between the hours of eight pm and two-thirty am very very  _very_  illegal. Even in Texas.

_Especially_ in Texas.

So, illegal sexual activities? Definitely not good.

And yes, that all did lead to Sabrina and that was good (not good enough to be  _good_ , like it was sweet and fun and you loved her, but it's not like you two were ever really meant to be, like you were some kind of legit endgame OTP, unless, maybe, your show got cancelled unexpectedly and the idiots in charge never had a chance to do something -  _anything_  - better.) But she did make you happy, for a while, and then when she  _didn't,_ that lead to…

Selma.

And Selma begat Jennifer who begat Callista who begat Diana who begat… um… fuck… what was  _her_ name?

(You're a bit distracted.) (Karma's hand - the one  _not_  on your ass - has found itself a new resting place and by resting, you totes mean 'caressing' or 'rubbing', perhaps even 'fondling', and who knew Karma was a boob girl?)

_Mandy_.

No, Mandy didn't know Karma was into boobs, at least you don't think she did, but you didn't think Karma was gonna turn dip time into the first five minutes of some good Internet porn (and yes, there is  _good_  and  _bad_  Internet porn and you can be forgiven if you've often found ones with a ginger-blonde pairing to be a bit more on the  _good_  side). Her name (the girl Diana begat) was Mandy and she was fucking  _adorable_  and brought you homemade doughnuts all the time and if she hadn't moved away, then  _maybe…_

But she did. And her moving (and taking the doughnuts with her) begat…

Lauren.

Actually, no. She begat that dude from your bowling team (you like to bowl, don't fucking  _judge_ ) but he never amounted to much more than a repeat of the great Oliv-aster of sophomore year, a single desperate kiss next to lane eight. But this isn't about who begat who anymore.

This is about who  _caught_ who.

"Amy?"

Her voice is soft and it's quiet and you haven't heard it like that in about a  _year_  (not counting the half this time because that would have been the  _first_  half, back when you both still felt like your mother was going to come home any minute and you were so  _quiet_ ) and, underneath the quiet, there's a fear in it, one that you'd hoped you'd never hear again - the way it sounded after she dumped Liam and showed up on your doorstep asking if she could move back in, thinking that for sure you'd say 'no' - and you certainly never wanted that fear to be because of you but, of course, it  _has_  to be  _you_.

Who else could it be?

It's only the ones we love… or the ones who whisper such things in our ears in the middle of the night… that can really hurt us.

Karma's hands drop to your hips (which is simultaneously a 'thank  _God'_  and a 'please,  _no'_ ) and her lips are like a single breath away from yours and you know - you fucking  _know_  - if you open your eyes,  _she's_  gonna be all you see and no, you don't mean  _Karma_.

And yet, you do it anyway, cause, well… you're you. And you can't go through life blind, right?

Except when it comes to Karma and your heart and finding ways to fuck up every good thing in your life by letting those two things anywhere near each other. Then… oh,  _then_ , you can be as blind as a fucking  _bat_.

You open them and, yup, there she is. Right over Karma's shoulder and there's this look on her face that you can't describe and that's only  _partly_  because you don't  _want_  to, and then Karma's stepping back (first time for everything) and then you think (stoopidly) (you're so fried you can't even  _spell_ ) that maybe everything will be OK.

Right up until her hands slip from your hips and one of them takes one of yours - the one with the carrot and oh, that's just fucking  _weird_  - and she smiles at Lauren (even  _weirder_ ), not that you see it cause you're still staring at  _her_  though, if you did, you might see something behind that smile that you might (maybe) (possibly) (you  _so_  would) recognize and then, on behalf of your… um…  _Lauren_ , you might want to jailhouse shiv Karma with that fucking carrot, right in

her heart.

But you don't  _see_  it, though you do  _hear_  it when Karma says "Oh, hey, Lauren. We were just getting the  _snacks_."

Really? The ' _snacks'_? As if yummy food goodies (and veggies) are somehow now some dirty, face-sucking, five more minutes and we'd have been scissoring (dammit,  _Shane_ ) on the kitchen table  _metaphor_?

Only Karma.

Lauren shakes her head and waves her off and yes, you're quite sure those are both meant for  _you_. "Doesn't matter," she says and no two words have ever hurt you quite so much. "Doesn't matter at all. Don't mind me." Her eyes flick to your hands, still entwined (and why the  _fuck_  are they still  _entwined_?) and then back to you. "Carry on," she says, turning on her and heel and stalking out of the kitchen.

Karma mumbles something about not knowing what's gotten into  _her_  (mumbles cause her lips have already found the skin of your neck) but, see, there's the entire problem.

No, not Karma's lips.

You.

You  _do_  know. You know  _exactly_  what's gotten into Lauren.

A very non-carrot shaped knife, right in her back. And go ahead, dust that fucker for prints.

They'll all be yours.


	2. Closer to Fine (But Not Close at All)

You're freaking out.

And  _that_ , if you're being  _honest_  (first time for everything, right?) is all Karma's fault.

Story of your damn life.

It's  _true_  though and no, that isn't  _just_  you trying (in vain) to shove some of the blame for this off of you and onto her. It's just a simple fact. Whenever Karma shows up and starts being all, you know,  _Karma_ … something in your brain misfires. A short circuit, a glitch in the matrix, a hiccup of your common sense and abandonment of all logic.

And, occasionally, a way too easy giving up of your lips. And your hips. And all your… other things that rhyme with lips and hips and, sure, that might be kinda new tonight, but it's all part and parcel of the same damn thing. Call it the Karma Effect.

You know, like the butterfly one except instead of destroying the world (or forcing people to watch Ashton Kutcher 'act' for two hours) it just ruins your every meaningful relationship.

The worst of it, you think, in between a few more of those mental hiccups as Karma's lips keep working across your skin, is that you  _know_  all this. You know what she does to you (and what she'd  _like_  to do to you, if those lips are any indication) and you see it coming  _every time -_ that nervous energy that goes bouncing round in your tummy at the first sight of her is just a  _bit_  of

a tip off - and yet, you still let it happen.

"She's going to be the death of you, you know," Lauren said once. (Or, you know, twice.) (Or thrice.) (Or a hundred fucking times, whenever she ended up  _picking_ up the pieces of another Karma induced crash and burn.) "If you don't get her out of your system and move on, and I mean  _all the way_  on, she's going to wreck you."

Sometimes, you think that girl can see the future.

"Maybe," she suggested, one night when that 'picking up' came on the heels of another of your failed dates (there were a few in between Selma and Jennifer) and  _also_  on the heels of one or two or  _five_  Rum Runners. "Maybe you oughtta just fuck her, you know,  _one time_ , and I bet that does the trick. Flushes her right on out."

Well… in that light… Lauren can't really be mad cause you're just taking her advice and if there's anything Lauren likes more than… well…  _you_  (at least before five minutes ago) it's totally being right.

Usually.

You think this case might be an exception.

And no, that's got  _nothing_  to do with the thought that you're not sure what Karma's doing to you or  _planning_  to do to you but you  _are_  sure it's not flushing a damn thing out of you.

Yet.

* * *

OK. Let's revise.

Maybe you're  _not_ freaking out. If you were freaking out - in true, epic, tears pouring down your cheeks and you're gonna disappear into your room and listen to nothing else but Tori Amos and Indigo Girls songs all night (you like your chick rock to be of the classic variety) (mostly because the new stuff all just makes you horny) (like, seriously, who listens to - or  _sees_  - Lauren Jauregui and  _doesn't_  get wet?) ( _so_  not a problem with the Indigos)

(wait) (where were you?)

Oh. Right. Hiccuping,  _again_. And freaking out.

Which you're still not doing, not  _really_.

Because  _that_ , a true Amy Raudenfeld meltdown special, would involve much more hustling of  _everyone_  (including Karma) ( _especially_  Karma) out of the house so that you and Lauren could sit down and talk and then, when the talk ended badly (she just watched Karma feeling you up, so, really, how else  _could_  it end),  _then_ there would be the locked - after being slammed - door and the Indigos blaring (as much as they  _can_ ) and you hiding under your duvet, vowing never to come out again and, if you ever do, vowing even  _harder_  to never ever  _ever_  even so much as look at another woman again cause, really, they're all just more trouble than they're worth.

And yes, that includes - maybe even  _especially_  includes - you.

Or, maybe you'd skip all that, walk out in the living room, take Felix by the pale hand, lead him to your room - your  _old_ room cause your hypocrisy knows at least some bounds - and just fuck him right on into unconsciousness, wait till he wakes up, and then tell him he's yours, for the rest of his life.

As if he'd argue.

Either way works. Either way features all of the Amy hallmarks: impulsiveness, drama to the nth degree, horrible decision making, and the breaking of at least one innocent heart. Though, now that you think about it (and why the  _fuck_ you're thinking about  _this_ it and not doing anything about the  _other_ it, the girlfriend walking in on you one, you don't really know) option one does leave out the horribly ill advised, mind numbingly unsatisfying, never able to be forgotten no matter how many hot showers you take sex.

(AKA the 'Liam clause', also AKA the 'what the  _fuck_  have I done' clause, and  _also_  also AKA the 'seriously?  _That's_  what did it for so many ladies? Well,  _clearly,_  the  _straight_  women of Austin are  _exceptionally_  easy to please' clause.)

So, you know, if you're even considering a plan that doesn't include  _that_?

Well... maybe you've grown after all.

And yes, that  _is_  grown and not  _groan_ , although you're certainly doing some of  _that_  too which, again, is how you know this isn't  _really_  freaking out cause, if it was, you  _wouldn't_  be groaning

(or  _moaning_ ) (either probably fits) and neither of those would be being caused by the feel of Karma's lips on your skin or her hand - the one  _not_  holding you by the back of your neck and  _almost_  pulling your hair and oh, if she only  _knew_ \- that has, somehow, ended up right between your legs, squeezing the inside of your thigh, making you desperately wish it would move even if, really, you're not sure which direction you'd like it to go in.

Your body says one thing, your mind says another and your heart…

Yeah,  _it's_ too fucking shook to speak just yet. (As if you would trust it, anyway.)

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, yes, you're still holding the carrot. You think, maybe, that's to keep  _your_  hand occupied - lest  _it_ end up somewhere it shouldn't - and yes, that  _is_  what you're going to think about right now, what's gonna get all of your focus.

The veggie.

Lauren told you it was there. In the fridge. When she sent you off to make the snacks - back when 'snacks' hadn't yet become a euphemism for whatever the hell it is you're doing or, more accurately, whatever it is  _Karma's_  doing cause you are very much still the do-ee and not yet a do-er and that 'yet' is what really scares you - back when Lauren smiled and laughed because she read your mind and knew where you were going even before you did.

"I think there's some carrots in the fridge," she said. "A few tomatoes and a cuke too and don't you  _even_ , don't go giving me that wiggling eyebrow - you're  _not_  Reagan - and I swear to  _God_ , Raudenfeld, don't you even think of giving me some 'but I was saving the cuke for…  _later_ ' dirty joke  _bullshit_ because we both know you don't put veggies  _anywhere_  in that body of yours."

And then there might have been (so  _was_ ) a whispered promised about exactly what  _she_  would be putting  _in_  (and out) (and in) (and out) (and then in and then  _staying_ in cause she knows so very fucking well - no pun intended - how hard that makes you shake and quiver and she also remembers that one time your eyes rolled back up into your head and she thought she had to call 911) to your body and then she sent you off to the kitchen with a very surreptitious smack

of your ass that you were sure absolutely no one saw.

A part of you - a small part, the part not focused on the carrot  _or_  being overloaded by Karma's lips and tongue and oh,  _that_  was the button to your  _jeans_  - now has to wonder just how much of all  _that_  anyone  _did_  see (and yes, by 'anyone' you  _almost entirely_  mean Karma) cause, really, if she did… well… that might explain a lot.

Like her motivation. (Jealousy, possessiveness, some bizarre 'I'm only gay when Amy might be happy' gene) (Take your pick.)

And also her dedication - cause you haven't yet…  _joined_   _in_ … but she is  _so_  not giving up - and her enthusiasm (you haven't seen Karma this into  _anything_  since that time Zen was in the dunk booth at school and that was only  _before_  you reminded her that she had to throw the balls and not just walk up and slap the bullseye) and, really, out of everything,  _that's_  the one you're most actively questioning (in the small part of your brain that's still functioning) because you just keep repeating it over and over and  _over_.

Karma is kissing you.

(OK, more than  _kissing_  cause, oh,  _that_  was your  _zipper_ , but, for the sake of brevity, simplicity and, you know, brain cells not quite functioning, we're just gonna go with  _kissing_.)

So, to repeat, Karma is kissing you.

_Karma_  is  _kissing_  you. Like she  _means_  it.

The first time that happens - so, you know,  _right fucking now_  - it catches you by surprise and, really, that's so far  _under_  a statement that it might as well be on the other end of that hole the two of you dug in the backyard when you were six, trying to reach China. In your defense, you wanted dumplings and Farrah wouldn't go to the Chinese place over on Twelfth that had the good ones.

Also in your defense, the hole was  _Karma's_  idea.

And yes, you realize that  _that_  defense stopped being a  _good_  defense right around the time you said 'let's be lesbians' but, to be fair, tiny Karma  _was_ adorable and very persuasive and tiny you was quite easy.

To  _persuade_. Tiny you was easy to persuade.

Not so tiny you is, apparently (cause fingers just hit underwear)  _just_  easy.

Period. Full stop.

But, seriously, you didn't see it coming - the failure of your hole (o _h God_ ) or Karma's lesbian plan or  _this kiss_  - and, really, who would? The last time anyone checked (and 'anyone' was totes  _you_ ), which was sometime around junior year, Karma was still 100% straight.

"You're still not gay, right?" you asked. Yes, you  _asked_  cause you  _thought_  but then you had a dream - and, really, why can't you just have nightmares about spiders or mimes or clowns or seeing Liam naked (again) like  _normal_ people - and so, Sabrina or no Sabrina, you  _needed_ to check.

Karma protested. Vehemently. Perhaps, in hindsight, a bit  _too much_ , but you didn't notice the how much part, at the time, cause you were too busy being  _relieved_ and  _reassured_ and thinking you should find Sabrina so that you would  _continue_  to not notice (and cause even  _asking_  Karma somehow felt vaguely like cheating) (though, honestly, asking felt so much less like it than, you know,  _this_ does.)

So, maybe, she doth protested too much to hide her real feelings. Or, you know, maybe she just felt the need to overcompensate since her main argument - her boyfriend - wasn't all that persuasive.

"Yes, Karma," you said. "I know you're with  _Felix_. Remind me again why you would think  _that_  precludes the idea of you being attracted to something  _without_  balls?"

She didn't talk to you for a week and you suspected then (and now) that it might have had less to do with you implying her boyfriend was a eunuch (like Lord Varys) (but not nearly as cool or crafty or, you know,  _bald_ ) and more to do with you maybe hitting a 'yeah, i might be kinda gay or bi or one of those forty-seven other terms I don't understand but at least never pretended to be' nerve.

Her tongue dancing along your neck and her hand slowly guiding your legs apart (you shut them at some point and you have no idea how  _that_  happened) tells you that  _perhaps_  there's been just the tiniest bit of reconsideration on Karma's part about the whole 'I'm 100% not gay' idea which is information that might have been more useful to you  _before_  you found yourself alone with her.

Or before Lauren found you both.

And, maybe (not maybe) (totes  _definitely_ ) that's the thought that finally resets your brain.

The tip of one finger has just slipped beneath the edge of your thong when your hand - the one not holding the carrot,  _obviously_  - catches hers. Karma stops moving, like  _all_  of her, tongue and lips included, and you can feel her pull back, just a little, just enough that she can look at you or, at least, you  _think_  that's what she's doing cause your eyes are still shut and you're terrified to open them.

Last time you did… well…

_Doesn't matter. Carry on._

Shit. You know you're not always the best girlfriend - to anyone - but you're pretty sure this was one time you weren't  _supposed_  to do what she said.

"Amy?"

Well…  _fuck_. Why does  _everyone_  have to keep saying your name? It makes you feel like you're in for a scolding. Or a spanking. And oh… see…  _this_ is why you should  _never_  be left alone with your own mind cause  _now_  you're thinking about spankings and all  _that's_  doing is reminding you of last Wednesday and…

And yeah… you're getting a little off topic. Brain reset's still a bit incomplete.

When you don't speak or open your eyes (or breathe) Karma goes ahead and pulls the rest of the way back - it's way too soon or far too fucking late for  _that_  - and without her holding you up, you slump back against the fridge which you may never be able to actually look at again.

You're still too afraid to open your eyes cause see (or not), you've been down this road enough times to know that as bad as it is  _now_? If you actually open up and see it all, for  _real_ , your final little bit of hope that it's all a bad dream will shatter like so much cheap glass and you'll be lucky not to find yourself bleeding to death with a carrot in your hand.

Cause, you know, you're  _still_  holding the damn thing.

"I can't do this," you say, finally finding your voice, if not the courage to actually look at her as you speak. (Baby steps, right?)

And yes, you speak, but not the truth, not  _entirely_  - why would you start that  _now_  - and so you go for the more reasonable and less 'I'm in love with my ex-sister and we've been living in sin for a  _year_ ' reason for why you can't quote 'do this' unquote.

" _We_  can't do this," you say (make sure to spread that blame, you know, kinda like you were just about to spread something  _else_.) "I mean… seriously, Karma? What the absolute hell? What's gotten into you? Since when you do go around dry humping me in my mother's kitchen?"

Yes, because the  _place_  makes all the difference in this scenario.

Karma takes a couple more steps back - you can actually  _feel_  the distance and you're not at all sure what it means that said distance feels suspiciously like  _relief_  - and leans herself up against the counter.

"First of all," she says and you know you're fucking in for it now. A Karma 'first of all' is like a Lauren 'what the  _fuck_ ', a damn near Biblical omen of doom. "I think anyone who looks at you for like the next hour is going to know that all this?  _So_  not  _dry_  humping."

You don't need to actually feel the crotch of your jeans, or  _all_  of your thong, to know she's not wrong. Damn your body and its involuntary responses.

Right. Involuntary. Because just  _anyone_  can cause a flood between your legs that Noah and the motherfucking  _Ark_  couldn't have ridden out.

"And second of all," she continues. "This isn't your  _mother's_  kitchen, anymore, Amy. It's  _yours_ , just like the house. She gave it to you - paid off and everything - when she moved to Saskatoon with your new stepdaddy."

"It was Saskatchewan," you correct, as if it really matters.

"You say tomato, I say tomapo, who the fuck really cares?" She's angry, or so she sounds (eyes still closed and all) but that's surprisingly  _not_  bothersome to you and no, that's got  _nothing_  to do with Angry Karma also being  _Hot_ Karma. "The point is that it's your house now and you can do what, or  _who_ , you want with it. Or in it."

Well… yes. She's right. And you know that. And, to be fair, you've  _been_  doing what ( _and who_ ) you want in it for quite a while now.

Not that she knows that. And not that you tell her.

"Maybe so," you say. "But there  _are_  other people here, you know." And yes,  _you_  do  _know_ , you know far better than you'd fucking like. "They're right out in the other room and any one of them could just… walk right on in here."

Again.

" _Again_ ," you add, mostly for emphasis and accuracy, but also to stall - just a bit - trying to give yourself enough time to get your head fully unclouded and your heart unracing and your pants…

Unwet.

Fuck.

At least one of those is gonna take considerably longer than the others and, sadly, you know it  _isn't_  your pants. Yes, it's  _sad_  but it's also  _unsurprising_  cause, let's face it, Karma's been fucking up your head since you were like ten and your heart since you were like fifteen - or at least that was when you  _noticed_  it - and if you haven't learned how to exercise a little bit better judgement by now…

"Don't go putting this all on me, Amy," she says and  _that_  does it, that finally snaps your eyes open like your lids are little twin window shades and somebody just gave them a tug. "It's not like you were pushing me away, now was it?"

The look you're  _going for_  (but don't land on) (like not even  _close_ ) is something along the lines of 'are you fucking  _kidding_  me?' mixed with a bit of 'oh, I'm sorry… was that  _my_ hand working  _your_  tits like some elderly dude checking out the melons?' (pun very much intended) and a smidgen, just the smallest, tiniest dash of ' _I'm_  the one who's actually  _got_  a  _girlfriend_  here'.

Which, of course, would work  _so_  much better if Karma actually  _knew_  about Lauren.

And if, you know, Karma didn't have a point.

That's when the brain reset finally takes full hold and you feel a sense of calm washing over you, which is - oddly enough -  _a lot_  like what you feel like every time Lauren holds your hand and oh…. just… fuck. Fuck all of it.

Like, for  _example_ : Fuck your mother for giving you the house. This shit wouldn't happen if you lived in a dorm. If you  _did_ , then you'd have a roomie who wouldn't be your sister (ex) and most likely wouldn't even be gay (cause what are the  _odds_ ) and even if she  _was_ , she  _so_  wouldn't be into  _you_  - tonight  _and_ that summer on the bus  _and_ Sabrina notwithstanding, you know you're  _not_  really catnip for lesbians - and what's the  _worst_  that could happen? You'd fall for the same girl?

Yeah. Right. That shit only happens on TV.

And this is  _so_  not TV.

And, you know what? Fuck  _Lauren_ for inviting Karma in the first place, which is, admittedly, a bit weird though, really, it's not that much weirder than the two of you (you and  _Lauren_ ) coupling up in the first place. They'd rank, you suspect, about the same on most people's ' _Really_? I didn't see  _that_  coming' scale.

And, while you're at it, fuck you. Yes,  _you_. Fuck you for having one gigantic fucking blindspot when it comes to Karma and, not to mention (as in  _please_ ) (please  _don't_  mention) one equally gigantic  _wet_ spot from coming  _with_  Karma (almost) and, you know what? Most of all?

Fuck Karma. Just…  _fuck her_.

Not  _literally_ , obviously, because you did manage to push her away before it got  _that_  far, which is just so 'yay, you!' cause you didn't  _quite_  let another girl (another as in  _besides_ ) part the petals of your precious flower (oh good  _God_ , now you're channeling Karma's  _mother_ ) so, woot! Where's your medal, where's your trophy? You can see the engraving now.

_Amy Raudenfeld: First Place in the Not Quite a Ho competition, College Division_

"So, I made an ill advised choice when it came to you," you say, slowly pushing yourself up the fridge, hoping your legs hold out. "Color me surprised. Actually," you say, "go ahead and color me fucking  _amazed_  cause last time I checked? You? Not all that into the vagina."

That could have come out  _so_  much better.

And so could  _that_.

"So what?" Karma snaps. She takes one step toward you and you're not sure if you want her to stay right where she is (you do) or just keep on coming (that  _too_ ) (pun maybe intended) (you're not exactly sure - of  _anything_  - at this point.) "So, you're the only one of us who's ever allowed to have a revelation? To suddenly see things in a different light?" She takes another step and, for a moment, you don't think she's going to stop. "To finally realize what…  _who's_ been right in front of her all along?"

Well… when she puts it like  _that_ …

When she puts it like  _that_ , you remember that yes, you  _did_ have a moment like that, you  _did_  have a revelation - the words 'woah' and 'I know'  _do_  come to mind - and no, you don't think you've got a monopoly on that.

(See: Reagan, when she realized you wanted college - and Karma - more than her.)

(Also See: Sabrina, when she realized she'd been in love with you since she was twelve.)

(Side Note: Totes ewww… and totes weird.  _Twelve_?)

(Side Note to the Side Note: 'I've loved you since the day we met'. Which was  _somewhat_ before  _twelve_ , so, on behalf of Sabrina?  _Fuck You_.)

(Again.)

But, when  _she_  (as in Karma and not as in Sabrina) puts it like  _that_? Well, there's only one truly appropriate, truly straight to the point (fuck the pun), truly  _Amy_  - the post Sabrina and Selma and Jennifer and Callista and Diana and, hopefully,  _not_  post Lauren version - response you can have to  _that_.

"Bullshit."

Totes right it is. Totes  _bullshit_.

Unless it isn't and this is Karma really coming out to you - and  _on to you_  - in which case? Well...

You're gonna freak out. Cause there ain't enough Indigo Girls in the world for  _that_.


	3. At Least We Get Out of the Kitchen

Did you just say  _bullshit_?

Yes. Yes,  _you_  did and  _that_  might just be the biggest shock of the evening. Well… OK…  _second_ biggest (if you count Karma kissing you) or, maybe,  _third_  biggest (if you count the shock Lauren felt at  _catching_  Karma kissing you) or, really, it might be or fourth or fifth or somewhere on down the list - like sixth or seventh or  _tenth_ \- if you count the feelings that ran through you every time Karma touched some new part of you (new to  _her_ ) (not like you just grew some  _new_  parts)(and yes, you  _know_  that's what you meant and no, you're really not freaking out and no, Karma's not fuzzing your brain anymore.)

But you just said  _bullshit_.

You  _called_  bullshit. On Karma. About  _this_.

Yeah, you're gonna have to put  _that_ at the top of the list. With a bullet. Like the ones Karma's eyes are shooting at you or, you know, the ones you really hope Lauren doesn't still have in her gun cause, well…

Did you mention the  _catching_? Oh, right, you  _did_. Right after the bullshit and yup, you  _are_ still stuck on that but, in your defense?

You're not half as stuck as Karma seems to be.

Watching her is like watching one of those flip books you made as a kid, every bit of her working in slo-mo (and it's  _good_  slo-mo, like  _Baywatch_  running on the beach slo-mo.) Like, for example, there's her face. There's this look you can see flitting over it, like might show up in one of those really really  _really_  uber cheesy sci fi films that Lauren secretly loves, some shape shifting alien's face morphing back and forth between hosts.

Except, those faces - the alien pretending to be human ones - always have  _all_ the emotions, like you'll get the sad mom (who always reminds you of Farrah, post-homecoming), followed up with the angry kid (you,  _also_ post-homecoming) and then the  _really_  angry kid (Lauren, post-Theo or, you know,  _tonight_ ) and there's the obligatory ass hat dad and then the even more obligatory hot girl (who's never quite as hot as they'd like you to think) (or as hot as you'd just  _like_.)

This face -  _Karma's_  face (and not her  _pretending_ to be human one cause, if there's one thing Karma is and always has been, it's very very  _human_ ) doesn't have quite that kind of… range.

There's anger. And then there's… well… anger. And then, after anger and anger comes this thing you can only equate to 'you fucked my  _boyfriend_  and no, it doesn't  _matter_  that he wasn't actually my boyfriend  _at the time_ ' and yeah, you could've gone the rest of your life without ever seeing  _that_  face again.

But then, until something like five minutes ago, you'd pretty much  _expected_  that you'd go the entire rest of your life without ever seeing Karma's 'I'm gonna take off all of your clothes and you're  _so_  gonna like it' face, so, hey…

Shit happens.

All the angers (yes, plural) tell you is that Karma can't quite decide if she's more pissed at you for calling her out or for interrupting (and putting a full on stop to) fun time.

And yes, you did just think 'fun time' and yes, that is a sign that you're secretly a seventy year old trapped in a twenty-something year old body, as if all the nights you and Lauren spend all cuddled up on the couch under like four blankets (" _Duvets_ ," you can hear her correcting) hadn't already told you that.

You're such a grandma.

Sorry… such a  _Nana_. (May she RIP.)

"Did you just say ' _bull_ shit'?" Karma asks, putting this weird emphasis on the 'bull' part , as if it being that  _specific_  animal makes it so much worse. Like if you'd said 'duckshit', she might be somewhat less offended. "I tell you that I've finally seen the lesbian light and you're gonna call  _bullshit_  on me?"

Well… when she puts it like  _that_ …

"Yes." That was  _simple_. Simple and far easier to say (and think) now that she's  _over there_  and giving you eyes that would cool the ardor of even the most lascivious person you know. (So, you know,  _Shane_.) "I am  _so_  calling bullshit on you, Karma. I'm calling the  _bullshittiest_  of bullshits on you."

That  _sounded_ good but, you realize, it would probably be considerably more effective if, for one, "bullshittiest" was actually a  _word_  and if, for two, you weren't still holding up your damp ( _soaked_ ) jeans with one hand.

But hey, points for trying.

Not that you're  _done_  trying. "How many times are we going to do this dance, Karma?" you ask and nope, you don't mean the sorta horizontal tango (mambo?) (twist?) ( _polka_?) you were just doing. "I mean, what happened this time? Last I checked there was some college douche you were all into? You know… what's his name… Dirk?"

"Derk," she corrects even though she knows damn well you  _remember_  (you did make fun of his name for like  _a week_.) "Spelled like Dirk but  _pronounced_ like 'Derek' and  _I_ know that  _you_  know that cause I told you like a  _dozen_  times and I even invited you to Clement to meet -"

You hold up a hand (with carrot) to shush her. "Right. Cause I was so gonna go all the way to New Orleans to meet Dirk or Derk or  _dick_ or  _dik_  or whatever, but since I didn't, I'm guessing all this is my fault?"

Let's be fair. Karma's most-likely-break-up-induced sapphic epiphany? Totally not your fault, not even a little (unless it's a crime to be hot and irresistible and, you know,  _convenient_.) But, the whole getting mauled against the fridge, pants getting undone, and things (parts) getting a bit… moist?

Yeah. That might be a little on you.

(Kinda like Karma was a little  _on you_.)

Anyway, you're hardly going to let a little thing like appropriate blame placement stop you since you're on such a roll (which, you've got to admit, is better than on the  _floor_ , and yes, that's faint praise, but you'll take what you can get.) "So what happened, Karms?" Even you're a bit struck by the venom that coats her name. "Did Dirk-dick dump you? Is that what this is? One of your semi-annual 'Karma got kicked to the curb by  _another_  douche, so let's run back to the one truly  _good_  person in your life' moments?"

And speaking of venom….  _Damn_.

If you'd thought  _before_  you said it - like, you know,  _at all_  - you might have realized what a can of fucking worms you were opening up. Cause, really…  _good person_?

Your pants are undone.

Your thong is dripping.

There's a pair o'points on your chest that could  _slice_  through  _glass_  and let's not forget that, even  _now_ , you can't stop staring at Karma's lips like they're the source of all the oxygen in the fucking  _world_  and if you don't partake of them again soon, you may suffocate and  _die_.

Oh, and your  _girlfriend_ , you know, the one you whispered 'I love you' to not so long ago, is right out there in the other room - and she was just in  _this one,_ unfortunately - and, now that you think about it, she's not  _alone_  out there and no, you're not talking about Shane or Felix ( _as if_.)

Lauren's in the living room with CEG.

(Cute Econ Girl.)

And why is that an issue? Lauren's with  _you_ , right? And it's not like you've given her any reason to reconsider…

Oh.

Well… fuck.

See, you might not be  _totally_  sure that Lauren's same-sex inclinations are a just for you kinda thing, she may or  _may not_  be Amysexual, but you  _are_  totally sure - as in 1,000,000% fucking  _certain_  - that her thirst for all things revenge and payback knows absolutely no bounds, so, if you're smart (which you've categorically proven is  _not_  the case tonight) you'll hurry the hell up and finish  _whatever_  this is and get out there before Lauren does something she can't take back.

Yeah, cause it's  _her_  that you've gotta worry about.

Really, all you've got to be actually concerned about - cause Lauren would  _never_  cheat - is that the longer you stay in  _here_ , the longer you're giving her to  _think,_  as in think about what she  _saw_  and  _then_ think that what needs to be taken back is each and every moment you've shared since she moved back in cause you (and Karma) managed to find the one surefire way to shatter the heart it took you so long to  _find_  and even longer for her to  _share_.

So… yeah… about that good person bit? You know what you say to  _that_?

Ha!

No… HA!  _HA!_

Better.

" _I_  broke up with  _him_ ," Karma says and it takes you a moment or two - like four breaths, if the rise and fall of her chest is any indication and hey, at least you're not fixated on her  _lips_  anymore - to stop thinking about losing Lauren and remember what she's talking about. "He was a jerk and I deserved better," she says and if she stopped there, maybe you would've actually felt bad.

But this is Karma. And you. And Karma and you don't ever just 'stop there'.

"And yes," she says, and you can  _hear_ her heart on her sleeve (if she was wearing any) and you see it coming - like a train rattling down the tracks that you can't escape - even before she says it. "Maybe that  _was_ what made me think of  _you_ , Amy, because you're not just better. You're the best."

There was a time, a long time ago (like four years) (which isn't that long) (except that in lesbian years, that's like a century?) when, if Karma'd said something like  _that_ to you - and meant it in the way she's  _saying_  she does now - you'd have likely melted right there on the spot, throwing caution (and Lauren, Reagan or Sabrina) to the wind. And not even one of the totally  _screaming_  and  _screeching_  and  _sweet fucking Jesus they're loud_  alarms currently ringing in your ears would have made so much as a peep.

OK. They would have. But you would have  _ignored_ them cause it was  _Karma_  and she  _was_  all you ever wanted (and yes, that's fucking  _past_  tense) (you're  _sure_  of that) (at least you're sure in between your  _ears_ ) and so any declaration of love she might have made, no matter how totally and absolutely and fucking  _obviously_  bullshit it might have been would have just set your lonely gay heart aflame.

But now? Right now? Right here, tonight, in  _your_  kitchen,  _your_  house, with  _your_  girlfriend only fifty feet away?

This isn't four years ago.

"I'm sorry that it took me so long," Karma says and even as she steps toward you, moving back into brain fuzzing range, you're still with it enough to think that, really, she should have said 'too' instead of 'so'. "I know I was stupid," she says, so there's one thing you can agree on. "I know I was blind."

She draws near,  _again_ , one hand reaching out to delicately cup your cheek and you can feel the static buzzing round in your head and the world swimming beneath your feet and  _now_  all you're thinking is 'Oh  _God_ , she's going there. She's going  _there_ ' as in 'I was stupid and blind and how did I never see that it was  _you_  all along, that it was  _you_  I  _wanted,_ and  _you_  I  _needed,_  and  _you_  I was thinking of every time I let one of those boys (or Felix) into my…'

Heart.

You were thinking  _heart_.

(You so  _weren't_.) (And not  _just_  because your brain is already shorting out and you're not really thinking much  _at all_  except to wonder how the hell she does  _this_  and how, if you  _know_  that she does this, you can't make it  _stop_.)

She's right over you now, staring down at you and you don't know - you  _can't_  know - whether to look at her eyes or her lips or that hand (the one  _not_  on your cheek) that's creeping on up your leg. This is like the wettest of your wet dreams  _or_ , maybe, the nightest of your nightmares and all that's missing to make it complete is -

"Nice to see some things never change."

Felix.

You can say, with all the confidence in the world, that  _he_  has never - as in  _ever_  - appeared in any dream you've had (wet or otherwise) and nope, he doesn't really do a damn thing to make this 'complete'.

Unless, by 'complete', you mean  _completely fucked up_.

Or, judging by the look on Karma's face,  _completely disastrous_ cause you can't ever remember her blushing that red or looking that scared, like  _ever_ , like this is about three countries and two continents past 'tell me that kiss meant something' level terror and wow…

That's really not a good look for her.

And  _that's_  what finally does it - the sound of  _his_ voice and the way getting caught by  _him_  is clearly freaking Karma right the fuck out (the hand on your cheek has gone ice cold) - that's what shatters her spell once and for all, what disperses all that static in your mind, gets you moving, shoving your way past Karma and right by Felix like neither of them is even there.

(But not without noticing the absolute death stare he's giving her right now.) (It's a stare that would make Lauren proud.)

You hit the hall and it's like breaking the surface of the water after the riptide's pulled you down and the air comes rushing back to your lungs and the blood starts flowing to your heart again.

Right up until you're pretty sure you feel it stop - stop fucking  _dead_  - inside your chest.

The view from the hall is clear, like fucking  _crystal_ , no matter how much you wish it wasn't. You can't  _help_  seeing it… seeing  _them_ … Lauren and CEG, sitting together, on the couch, and no, it isn't like they're making out or holding hands - you're pretty sure they're not even  _touching_ , not that they aren't  _close enough_  for it - but it's just…  _that_.

As in  _that's_ your spot.  _Yours_. Right next to Lauren, close to her,  _with_  her. You're the one she's supposed to be looking at like  _that_ , like you're the only person in the room, and no, you haven't forgotten that the  _last_  time she looked at  _you_ , you definitely  _weren't_  the only person in the room.

That look - the one you didn't even know Lauren could give until you woke to it one morning and it was like the fucking  _sun_  and no, you're not  _overselling_  it, not even a  _little -_ is  _yours_ , it's perfect, it's everything, all the things about her and all the things within her and it makes you feel just like every bit of her attention and concern and  _care_  is…

Just for you.

Or, you know,  _her_.

(You hate her.) (You don't even know her name cause, no, it probably doesn't say CEG on her birth certificate, but you still fucking  _hate_  her.)

Lauren glances over at you and, for a moment, you see in her eyes what you wished she'd seen in yours. Guilt. Regret. Apology. She's not even doing  _anything_  and she's still got you beat on so  _many_  levels, you're not even sure you deserve her.

Correction: You  _are_  sure.

You don't.

But that look, not  _your_  look, but that other one that says she hates what she's doing (even if it's nothing) and she hates the pain she knows it's causing you (which is so very  _not_  nothing), that look gives you hope that maybe this can be fixed.

Or, at least, it  _does_. Right up until it vanishes and there's that Lauren sneer you knew so well all those years ago and you don't even have to turn around to know why.

"Amy," Karma says, her voice low, her breath hot on the back of your neck. "We should talk."

You want to say something witty, something snarky, something cutting that will put Karma in her place but, truth is, the time for  _that_  was somewhere  _before_  there were hands and lips and all the rest. And, really?

You've got to be able to  _breathe_  to  _talk_  and right this moment, watching Lauren turn away - turn back to  _her_  - you're not sure you can manage either. So you don't even try, you say nothing at all, turning and heading up the stairs toward your room, your pants still loose around your waist and your heart somewhere down by your feet and you wonder if that hole you and Karma dug is still out there, in the yard somewhere and if you jumped in, if you'd keep falling and falling, so far from here.

Though, really, if you're being honest? You're not at all sure that even China is far enough away to hide from this.

(Spoiler Alert: It's not.)

.


	4. First Time for Everything

It's amazing, you think, what a little distance can do.

That's not the first time you've ever thought that - it's not even the first time  _tonight_  - but what's even more amazing, at least to you, is how absolutely  _true_  that really is. And it's both distance  _you want_ (as in from Karma) and distance you  _don't_  (from Lauren) and the two are… well…

You'd say as different as night and day, but even those two are too similar. They bleed on into each other, the changeover subtle and slow and it's like one minute it's night, and then without warning, it's day and  _that_ , you're quite fucking  _sure_ , is not like Karma and Lauren  _at all_.

And you're something of an expert on both now, the women  _and_  the days and nights, having spent way too much time with Karma - you don't think that you mean  _just_ tonight - and more mornings than you ever would have thought possible, curled together with Lauren, watching sunrises out the window of your mother's bedroom.

Correction:  _Your_ bedroom. As in the 'royal' your. As in yours  _and_  hers.

Correction of the correction:  _Your_  bedroom, as in  _just_  yours cause, after the kitchen, you don't think Lauren's gonna set foot in here like ever again, except maybe to get that trunk of hers out of the closet and, really, you suspect she could - and probably will - send Shane in to do that for her.

You snort, in spite of yourself, at the thought. Shane, going back into the closet. For  _Lauren_.

That visual almost makes it all worth it. Almost.

(Correction,  _again_ : It's not even almost. It's not even  _close_.)

So, again, it's a lot like you and Lauren and yes, you know you have no one to blame for that but  _you_  (and possibly Karma) (but mostly you) and that, if you were even a little smart, you wouldn't be up here by yourself. You'd be downstairs, trying… well… anything.

You don't really think flowers or chocolates or a whip cream bikini is really going to get the fixing this job done and yes, you know each of those  _has_  worked but that was in the past. B.K.

Before Karma.

And, yes, you  _also_  know that's something of a misnomer cause, really, there isn't any part of you or of your life that's  _before_  her, not that you remember anyway and you used to not mind that, it was even, from time to time (like from sixteen to Sabrina) something that made you happy.

It's funny,  _really_ , what a little distance can do cause, right now?

You can't actually remember how  _that_ time felt. Not  _at all_.

* * *

Things you do remember: that you really really  _really_  ought to stop blaming Karma for your shit.

Even if it is her fault. Or, at least, partly her fault and see,  _this_  is why you hate what distance can do cause  _this_  is what it  _does_. It makes you see yourself and not in the glow of Lauren's affection or the super dirty and dusty and foggy in all the right spots (the ones that cover the  _issues_ ) mirror of Karma's sometimes-like- _that_ -and-sometimes- _not_  love.

It makes you see you so fucking clearly and, really, that's just not a good look. Like at all.

It could be. Maybe. It might be. Someday. You know, when you grow a spine and stop letting yourself do things you don't really want to do, and chalk it all up to the Karma effect. Cause, if you're honest?

It's totes the  _Amy_  effect and maybe, if you can just deal with  _that_ , then the distance view might not suck so much.

But it's been  _years_  and you haven't dealt  _yet_ , and sitting here on the bed staring at Lauren's trunk in the closet, with your still damp pants tangled around your ankles?

Doesn't feel much like dealing. Not much at all.

* * *

Another thing you remember: your first time.

You remember that  _vividly._

OK. Wait.

To clarify - you don't mean  _that_  first time. In all honesty,  _that_  one you don't remember, like  _at all_  and you thank God or Gaia or Zeus or Satan - or all of the fucking  _above_  - for champagne, with all it's magical amnesia inducing bubbles cause if you had to live your life with the memory of a Booker penis burned into your brain…

There's not enough Lauren sunrise watching  _or_  Karma kitchen humping to ever, like  _ever_ , make up for  _that_.

You also don't mean your  _other_  first time, the one with Reagan the night of the pageant when Lauren threw boobs at the judges and you, for the first time (another one) felt a bit of genuine closeness with your mother.

You know, the one who got married ( _again_ ) and forgot you ( _again_ ), taking off for Saskatchewan in the dead of the night without so much as a note (she texted three days later) ( _texted_ ) but left you a house all to yourself that, soon enough, wasn't  _all_ to yourself and so, maybe, you should be a bit more grateful about  _that_ lack of closeness.

Which would you rather have? A hug and a kind word (or two) from Farrah? Or night after night of there's no one else here so we can be as nekkid as we want  _wherever_ we want for  _as long_  as we want (for someone so tiny, Lauren has a  _shocking_  amount of stamina) times with the woman who's seen you at your worst and still likes you.

Correction ( _again_ ): Liked. She  _liked_ you. She might have even loved you - she never said it, but the night after you whispered it in her ear, she did work  _overtime_  to make you scream her name in every language you know (which is two) ('Lauren' in Spanish is still 'Lauren') - but all that was before she  _really_  saw you at your worst.

See: the kitchen and Karma and the carrot and yeah, you think the  _past_  tense of 'like' might be the most appropriate.

The first time you  _do_  remember - and right now, remembering it is like a sharp stick in the eye or maybe a sharp carrot in the back - is the first time, the very first  _moment_  you even sorta had the tiniest inkling that you maybe, possibly,  _might_ feel something for Lauren that went  _beyond_ friend and right  _around_  sisters and, remarkably, wasn't even just your usual desperate need for there to be a someone in your life who you didn't want to fuck or kill.

If anyone had ever asked you to play fuck, marry, kill with Karma on the list, she'd have hit the trifecta and there was  _always_ a part of you that wished for someone who  _didn't_. Lauren, you thought, fit the bill.

Right up until your first time.

The first time you felt anything - not that you acknowledged it or dealt with it or even took the time to brush it aside and pretend it wasn't there - was the rainy night when Lauren arrived at your door, with one trunk and vacant eyes that looked like she hadn't slept in a week.

_That's_  the trunk in your closet. And you do  _mean_  a  _trunk_. It's not some pretty pink thing with rolling wheels and a handle. This is one big bad  _muthafucka_  of a trunk, tucked neatly into the back corner of the closet. You've never seen the inside. Hell, you've never seen the lid even the tiniest bit  _ajar_. It isn't padlocked (like Lauren's diary) (and yes, she keeps one) (and yes, you've  _tried_  picking said lock and no, you haven't succeeded) but it might as well be.

You asked her once -  _once_  - if she wanted to tell you what was in it.

"No," she said. Just that. Just…  _no_. And, in her defense, it is  _her_  stuff in  _her_  trunk and what's her's is her's (and what's  _yours_ is also  _her's_ , but that's hardly the point) and, to her credit  _and_  your pleasure, after she said 'no' (just…  _no_ ) she changed the subject and, when you say she changed the subject, you totes mean she pushed you  _up_ against the closet door and let you push her  _down_  betwixt your legs and she was still new at all that but whatever she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm and drive.

She's always been a perfectionist, you know.

And remembering  _that_  - as if you could forget it - also means remembering that that wasn't the first (or the  _last_ ) time you were grateful for her borderline dangerous perfectionist tendencies.

It  _was_  the first time (but not the last) when you… well…  _faked_  it. 'It' as in the idea that maybe it wasn't  _quite_  perfection ("it was a little too wet" was what you went with) and you suspected then, and know now, that she didn't buy it for a second.

Didn't stop her from trying again. And again. And again. And yeah, she liked the game of it as much as you did, you both got off on it just a little.

Yeah. Like there's ever just a  _little_  getting off with Lauren. If you really wanted to (and you  _so_  kinda do) you know you could march downstairs, corner Karma - or, better yet, do it in front of  _everyone_ , including her ex, her best frenemy, and a complete stranger - and let her know that, in no uncertain terms, as hot and bothered as she got you in the kitchen?

Lauren's done that in every room of the house and the backyard and the garage and the car and there wouldn't have been any dripping-slash-soaked-slash-half-off thong with her.

You stopped wearing any underwear around Lauren (except when there was company over, obvi) two weeks after the two of you started… whatevering… cause she  _ruined_  like six pairs, including your favorite thong.

Who knew her teeth were that strong?

So… yeah… there's  _that_. And, if you thought that doing  _that_  (the telling Karma, not the ripping thongs) would  _also_  win Lauren back, well, you'd be downstairs already, instead of  _still_  sitting here, moping and remembering.

Remembering what?

Oh… that's  _right_.

* * *

So… your first time. With feelings. Like all the feelings. The feelings you didn't know you could have and the feelings you ignored the  _fuck_  out of and the feelings you thought would go away like the stomach ache after you ate three day old taco night leftovers the week after your mother left you  _all alone_ , cause she clearly didn't know you weren't  _safe_  that way.

At least not if there were tacos.

Or, as it turned out, if there were adorable-slash-sexy-slash-sarcastic-slash-broken (and that last one was the kicker) blondes afoot.

(Side note: Stop thinking in slashes.)

( _Other_  side note: Who the  _fuck_  says "afoot"?) (Answer: Ashoe.) (Or possibly asock.)

(That didn't even make sense, and yet you're laughing and yes, that's  _so_  just so you don't cry.)

So… first time.

"We broke up," Lauren said and that was  _all_ she said. As in, not another word. Not so much as another  _syllable_. She just stood there, in the rain with her trunk, waiting expectantly. See, she'd done the math, she'd thought about all the times you'd actually shared over the years and, most of all, she remembered the cake.

You know the one. The "Tommy's an asshole" and "Karma's a bitch" cake and oh, how true those both turned out to be.

(Tommy's doing time now.) (Turns out that he graduated and moved to Tennessee, failed out of college, and moved back to Austin, forgetting that he wasn't actually in high school anymore, so now he's discovered the hard way that when you're an adult - legally, at least - fourteen gets you twenty, especially when that fourteen is the local sheriff's daughter.)

And the idea that Tommy's now learning all about what "used to be a dude"  _really_  means - and  _tonight_  - proves it beyond a doubt. Karma really is a bitch.

A raging, I'm gonna fuck up your life and you're gonna  _like_  it pain in your ass  _bitch_.

But anyway…

"We broke up," she said.

The 'we' in question was obviously her and Liam (that  _fucker_ ) but even that Lauren's never actually  _said_. Beyond those three little words, that were - to be honest - music to your ears cause you'd never really been down with the Booper (and that was totes the  _only_  reason), a cursory "I'll crash in my old room", and a perfunctory "It'll just be a day or two, a week  _tops_ ", Lauren wasn't talking.

Lauren. Wasn't. Talking.

And that was how you  _knew_  it was bad. It wasn't like Lauren was Queen Chatty, but she  _was_  Queen Get Even (which should probably be concerning  _you_  right about  _now_ ), her majesty of maliciousness, her royal highness of 'you fucked me  _over_ , I'm gonna fuck you  _up_.' If there was ever someone who was stupid enough to burn her, she  _torched_ them.

And their house. And their car. And their "new bitch's 'show off my dollas ride' that just shows money can buy a man whore but it can't buy  _class_."

(See: that woman her dad dated freshman year who took him for nearly everything.)

Also see: Theo

There was that one brief period early in college - she and Liam were on a 'break' (copyright Ross and Rachel and  _God_ , you watch too much Netflix) - and so she and Theo reunited. It burned bright and hot and then, as such things often do, it flamed out.

_Spectacularly_.

It took you  _months_  to forget the TMI about her and Theo and his… junk.

"He tried putting it in  _my_  trunk," she said and no, she wasn't talking about that fucker sitting in your closet. "And let me tell you," she added, "It isn't like that… key… was too big for the lock, cause it  _so_ wasn't, but that's  _just not done_ , if you know what I'm saying."

You did. You  _so_  wished you  _didn't_  but you did.

(And God help you when you had to explain it to Sabrina,who'd been there for the whole thing but got somewhat lost in the metaphor - "was Lauren really all that upset that Theo got locked out?"- and oh she was lucky she was better with her tongue than her brain.)

So now the girl who had once felt the need to share her boyfriend's… key… deets, was standing there in front of you, not saying a thing. And in all the nights that followed,  _what_ followed was all the  _silence_. From the moment you stepped aside to let her drip her way across the threshold, it was radio fucking silence and that should have made you worried, it should have concerned the shit out of you.

What it did was distract you from the way your eyes lingered a bit too long on the way her jeans clung a bit too well, what with all the rain and all. And - more of a big deal (cause checking out her ass was one thing, but feelings…) - it distracted you from the way you felt almost… kind of whole, now that she was here.

The first time.  _That_  was it. And you  _felt_ it, but you  _ignored_ it and now you can't stop thinking about it and there's footsteps out in the hall and you really ought to pull your pants up, in case it's her - no reminders of what she saw, right? - but you can't quite bring yourself to bother.

Because you know it isn't her.

If the Queen was on her way?

You'd never hear her coming.

* * *

What it did, was distract.

What it  _really did_  was drive you nuts

.

(Or, you know,  _more_  nuts.) (The only kind of those that won't kill you.) (Probably.)

Even Shane was worthless. "Liam won't tell me what happened and that means it's  _bad_ ," he told you a few days after that rainy night during a super sneaky Skype sesh, while Lauren was in her room, asleep. Since she'd come home (which is  _totes_  how you thought of it) (that might have been a sign of things to come) she was  _always_  sleeping or eating or making  _you_  a bite to eat and you should have felt at least a little bad about  _that_  but…

_Damn_  (like DAMN) could she cook. And bake. And saute and fry and broil and oh, the things she could do with a bit of hot fudge and whipped cream and that was  _before_  you found out the things she could  _really_  do with both.

But you digress…

"Liam may not give a shit what most people think of him," Shane said (and oh, how you doubted  _that_ ) "but  _I'm_ not most people. If he's not telling me, then it's because he knows I'd judge and it would be  _harsh_."

Crimes and misdemeanors and things Shane Harvey couldn't forgive. The list of the latter was considerably shorter than the former and yeah, if Liam (that  _fucker_ ) was keeping his mouth shut, it was  _bad_.

That fit what was happening on your end, too. Lauren was taking it hard.  _Hard_. Like harder than, oh, your boyfriend is actually an  _adult_  and a  _cop_  and you don't even know his  _name_.

(And he just handcuffed your sister and not in the way she likes it, which,  _clearly_ , Lauren didn't know  _at the time_.)

(Neither did you, really.)

(You owe Sabrina for  _that_ , at least.)

To you, that spelled some seriously shameful shit, something bad enough that Lauren wouldn't even want you to  _know_. And that drove you nuts while, now that you think about it, at the same time it was driving you right  _into_  her. Like that night.

No, not  _that_  night.

(Assuming that by ' _that_  night' you meant the night you finally caved in and kissed her hard, right in the hall between her old room and your old room until she pulled back to look you in the eyes and you thought - you were  _sure_  - that you'd fucked up, like  _royally_ , but then she took you by the hand and led you into  _this_  room and neither of you left for like the next two days.)

No, the  _other_  'that night' was like three weeks after she moved back in. You'd been watching her - totes not  _staring_  or  _stalking_  or  _ogling_  (maybe some ogling) - and you'd seen the looks in her eyes every night and every morning and every day as she baked and cooked and cleaned and sat on the couch in the living room, just… staring.

It was the wall. The one with all the pictures, the ones Farrah had hung of you and her and all your friends - like from graduation and the first Christmas you were all back from college - and you had never bothered to take them down after your mom left.

Lauren did that for you.

And, by 'did that' for you, you mean 'took them down'. And by 'took them down', you mean 'threw' and by 'threw' you mean across the room and by 'across the room', you mean…

_Across the room._ Like at escape orbit velocity. Like at 'thank God you saw them coming and had time to take shelter behind the couch'  _warp fucking speed_.

All those looks - and the shattered glass and busted pieces of wood and torn 8x10's that Lauren didn't even  _think_  of picking up off the floor - were enough to convince you that it was even worse than you'd thought, but also that you should totes respect her wishes and not push her on it.

You didn't think she could throw you, but better not to chance it, you know?

Of course, her  _wishes_  included speaking about it, but not  _thinking_ about it and so you might've obsessed on it. But only just a little. So, you know, something like fourteen hours out of every twenty-four.

(Eight for sleeping and two for eating and there was no obsessing during eats cause,you know, as noted, Lauren could  _cook_.)

But still… you behaved. You never asked and you never pushed… well… except that  _one_  time when you "accidentally" mentioned his name and the look she gave you - as she stalked out of the room (and didn't come back for an hour) (and it was  _her_  room) hinted (strongly) that if it ever happened again, the  _next_  supper she made you would be your  _last_.

And that was enough of  _that_.

But still… (again) (lots of buts and lots of stills and, if you're being honest about that now, lots of butts, as in Lauren's, which hadn't ever quite left your mind since that first rainy night) just cause you never  _said_ , that didn't mean you weren't  _thinking_ and you'd developed a shit ton of theories, almost all of which involved some dumb girl Liam had gone and gotten caught with.

And yes, she  _had_ to be dumb. Cause, really, what other kind of girl would be with  _him_?

Wait.

Don't answer that.

(Only  _two_  of you were dumb, and Karma was… well…  _Karma_ , and you were also  _drunk_  and  _heartbroken_  - you've always been of a mind that those two accounted for the other one - but Lauren was lost and alone and broken and, to a guy like Liam (that  _fucker_ ) that combo was a neon sign, flashing in the night screaming 'Easy Prey Here!')

Your imagination always ran to images of Lauren walking in on Liam and the dummy, probably on their bed - and oh, how thinking of it as  _their_  bed, made you sick to your stomach, like week old taco night  _sick_  - catching them in the act. From there, it was a quick hop skip and a jump to Lauren's inferiority complex kicking in.

_She's a real girl._

_Of course Liam would want her._

_She can give him babies._

(Booker babies. You can't imagine a world in which  _anyone_  - even Karma - would want  _one of those_.)

And then, from there, there would be running, or, as much running as would be possible what with dragging that fucking Titanic of a trunk. And, even in your imaginings, that running would be straight to you.

_That_ , you thought, had to be it. You didn't know - like, you had no proof that he'd cheated - but you were  _sure_. But you still never pushed and just waited, biding your time until Lauren chose to tell you, which you were  _also_  sure she would do, when she was  _ready._

"That motherfucking son of a  _whore_."

Or, you know, when she found out that Liam had offered Bruce an  _exorbitant_ amount of money and bought her apartment (sorry) ( _condo_ ) out from under her.

"He cheats on me… fucking  _cheats on me_  and now..."

See? You were  _right_!

(Totes not the point.)

"He cheats on me… fucking  _cheats on me_  and now he…" She was holding a spatula, one she was using to flip some pancakes - with chocolate chips and there was some whipped cream in the fridge that you'd been eyeing since the first drop of patter hit the griddle - and if that spatula had been a living thing, you're pretty sure it's tiny little pancake tossing neck would've snapped between her fingers.

When you gently pried it loose from her grip, that those aforementioned fingers immediately curled into fists so tight her knuckles went  _white_ (and we're talking like  _Tom Cruise_  levels of white, here) didn't do much to reassure you that Liam (that  _fucker_ ) (that fucker with a condo) wasn't going to meet an untimely end.

Like, you know, a car accident. Though the brake lines being cut might be a tip off. Or, maybe, stumbling out in front of a bus. But, again, there might be traffic cams in the area and that would be  _unfortunate_  cause, you know,  _evidence._

A fire. Yeah, that was the ticket. Faulty wiring and dead batteries in the smoke alarm and, by the time the blaze was done, Liam would be that  _crispy_  fucker and, it occurred to you then, you might have an issue or two (or, you know,  _all_  the issues) about… him… that maybe you should talk to someone about.

And, quite clearly, that someone should  _not_  be Lauren.

"It's not like I wanted to go back there," she said, slamming both of those fists down onto the countertop in perfect time with 'there'. "You couldn't pay me enough to live there again and I told Daddy that and yes, I told him to sell the place, but... I  _meant_  sell it  _after_ her kicked that little… and I do mean  _little…_ fucker to the curb."

Bruce, it would seem, had missed that part of the memo.

So, Liam got the condo and Lauren got the shaft and you got the roomie you didn't know you wanted who soon started to become the roomie you  _knew_  you  _wanted_  and not at all in any of the ways you were supposed to.

She's your sister, you said.

Not  _technically_ , that little voice in your head (that sounded remarkably like Shane) (which would cause him no end of angst if he knew) (Shane Harvey playing matchmaker - possibly scissoring maker - for Lauren Cooper). There was a  _divorce_ , that voice said. And, more importantly, even without  _that_ , it wasn't like you two were related by  _blood_.

Good point, you said (cause, well, it  _was_ ) (and cause, well, it made you feel slightly less guilty for checking her out every morning and marveling that she looked that  _good_  right out of bed.)

She's my friend, you said. And I don't have so many of those that I should go risking one for a fling.

True, that voice agreed (even your inner perv apparently had some self-esteem issues) but…

But two of your three relationships were with  _friends_  and sure, Karma didn't exactly work out, but Lauren  _hates_  her and they're like the  _exact opposite_ , so that's gotta be a good sign, right?

_Another_  good point, you had to agree, even if you did, in fact, notice that that little voice had changed 'fling' to 'relationship', driving a metaphorical U-Haul right up to your mental door.

Even the voice in your head was a better lesbian than you were.

Ah, but there was the rub. You were a lesbian. (Not 'were' as in past tense, but 'were' as in it happened back then.) (You're still just as gay as you've ever been.)

(And no, Reagan, we're not debating just  _how_  gay, that is.)

Lauren, on the other hand?

She's  _straight_.

There was silence on the other end of the call - the one between you and, well,  _you_  - and you thought that, for once, you'd actually won an argument. Cause, really, that  _was_ the one most unassailable point. Lauren was straight.

But then, said the voice, so were  _you_.

Well…  _shit_.

* * *

The steps came right up to your door and then through it, all slow and tentative and unsure and that's  _funny_  cause  _you're_  sure.

Sure that you can't even look at her cause if you do, you're gonna lose all control. And, for what might be the first time in your  _life_ , you don't mean lose control in the sense that you're gonna go right ahead and hand her all of it and let her steer the Karmy ship with you just tagging along for the ride in your own life cause then, at least, when the shit hits the fan - and it so will, because it  _always_  does - you'll have a built in excuse.

It was  _Karma_ , not me.

What was it you said earlier?

Right.

_Bullshit_.

There's no point in going backwards and trying to relitigate your whole life - what's done is done, after all - but maybe, just  _maybe_ , there's a chance that one of those 'done' things isn't this thing between you and Lauren and if that's the case, if it's gonna get fixed?

That's gonna have to start with  _you_.

"Whatever it is you've come up here to say, just save it," you say, hoping your voice sounds a bit more confident than you feel. It's not like you've never stood up to her before, you've laid down the law to Karma once or twice or a  _hundred_  times.

Hell, you got on a fucking  _bus_  and  _left_  her.

It didn't stick, obviously, but that's so not the point.

"You know, from the outside, a lot of people would say I lost Reagan because of you," you say to her. "And those same people would point out that I  _almost_  lost Sabrina because of you, too."

Those people wouldn't be entirely wrong on either count.

They wouldn't be entirely  _right_ , either.

"But the simple truth, Karma," you say, "is that you never do anything to me that I don't  _let_  you and yes, that includes tonight and yeah,  _that's_ on me and, for once, I'm gonna be honest and actually recognize that."

You stand, slowly, gently tugging your pants up your legs, slipping the button back through the hole, gathering yourself in your armor and no, that's not  _just_  your actual  _clothes_.

It's the thought of that look, the one in  _her_ eyes that night in the rain. And let's not pretend that you don't know that  _that_ was the first time you knew.

Your heart was a goner the moment you let her in.

"Whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it and whatever bullshit you're gonna feed me about why you did what you did, it doesn't matter." You turn to face Karma, as ready as you're ever gonna be. "We're done, Karma. I'm in love with Lauren and I'm gonna fight for her as hard as I have to."

Well, congrats,  _you_. Well played. Well said. Challenge well met.

Except…

"I guess I was wrong then," Felix says, leaning against your bedroom door being all him and all…  _not_  Karma. "Some things  _do_  change."


	5. The Fault in Our Death Stars

So… about  _Felix_.

Sometimes, you think maybe you've been too hard on the guy. He hasn't had it easy, after all. Dead mom, asshat dad, drinking problem, rehab, meeting you, relapse, rehab  _again_ , returning to you only to find that  _another_ 'thought I was straight but then we kissed and…  _woah_ ' girl had swooped in and swept you off your feet and then, when he and Karma (mostly Karma) outed Ms. maybe-straight-maybe-not as a massive liar, the  _other_  maybe-straight-maybe-not (oh, she so  _is_ ) girl in your life went and shoved the  _first one_  right back into your heart and Felix was left alone.

Again.

Except…

Well,  _except_ , he wasn't like  _all_  alone as in he was smooching on that same maybe-maybe-not girl before your 'I love you's' with the other one finished echoing on the dance floor and so then they were both hiding it from your for weeks and, let's face it, neither of them is a  _good_  liar (not to  _you_ , anyway) and so all that sneaking did was make you suspicious and confused and upset and  _suspicious_ , like to the point of stalking (through Facebook) (at  _first_ ) and you were lucky that Sabrina was very easy to convince (mostly by you being  _very easy_ ) and so when  _she_  got a wee bit suspicious that  _your_ suspicion was motivated not by concern, but by  _caring_  - as in too much, and as in for  _Karma_  - you were able to put her fears to rest.

But not your own.

And so you might have ended up in a tree, outside Karma's room, dressed head to toe in black (cause that totally blended in with  _green_ leaves) (you never claimed to be an expert stalker) (or good at fashion) and you were just trying to make sure that she was OK and that there wasn't something…  _weird_ … going on, which might have been when you saw them.

As in  _saw_.

As in they barely even made it through the door before the clothes were coming off and oh, you'd always wondered what Karma looked like topless, but you're pretty sure (as in  _all_  the sure) that in any of the few (as in  _many_ ) imaginings of what that might look like, her nipples looked about a thousand percent less like Felix's 'gonna suck all the juice from this orange through a straw!' face.

There are some things you can't unsee and some things you can't  _stop_  seeing cause you would make way too much noise trying to get out of the tree and they'd totally know you were there so you have to stay - as in  _put_  and as in  _quiet_  - and never ever  _ever_  have those two things been as hard…  _difficult_  (you're  _so_  not thinking of what you saw and  _hard_  in the same sentence) as they were that night.

It was weeks before you could look either of them in the eye.  _Months_  before you could hug Karma again.

So, sometimes, when you think maybe you've been too hard on Felix?

You remember.

And you don't think that  _anymore_.

"What are you doing here?" you ask and you mean your room -  _specifically_ \- but Felix could take it as in the house or the get-together or, you know,  _Austin_  and he wouldn't exactly be all that wrong.

He leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest, just looking at you and you're suddenly very self-conscious of how not entirely dressed you are. It's not like he can actually see anything - at least not any of the  _good_  bits - and you know he already got an eyeful ( _both_  eyes full, really) down in the kitchen. But you still have the urge to swipe the duvet off the bed and wrap yourself up in it like a sushi baby.

_That_ , as it turns out, is the one urge you  _can_ actually  _ignore_ and so you go right on standing your ground, refusing to show him any weakness. Or, you know, any  _more_ , cause you kinda showed  _almost_  all the weaknesses you had a little bit earlier.

Along with quite  _a_  bit of the  _good_  bits.

_God_ , do you hate Karma right now.

"I saw you, downstairs," he says - and the words 'well,  _duh_ ' leap to mind  _immediately_  - "when you came out of the kitchen and spotted Lauren with that girl."

The correction slips off your tongue before you can stop it and, really, it's less of a slip and more of a headlong  _dive bombing_  run, like you have to  _destroy_  his words. "She wasn't  _with_  that girl," you say which, you realize like  _instantly_ , is as much an admission as it is a correction.

But it's an admission to something, it seems, Felix already  _knows_. "Sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to say she was…  _with_ … her. I just meant…" He trails off and shrugs and, for the first time you can remember, there's a flicker of something behind his eyes, the tiniest ember of a thing, a long forgotten spark of 'fuck you' flaring to life, like he's not sure why  _he's_  sorry again when, quite clearly,  _you're_  the one who's been up to no good.

Again.

It's a look you've seen before, in the mirror. It's a look you've  _felt_  before, burning just behind your eyes. The phrase 'horny parrot' suddenly leaps to mind and, for the first time in a long time, you kinda feel like maybe you and Felix have something in common and yeah, it's the same  _biggest_  thing you've had in common since he and Karma first locked lips but still, it's  _something_.

But then, just like that, it's gone.

His eyes flicker and then flutter and then shut and when they open again, he's just… him, again and you've got no real good idea why  _that_  bugs you so, why him being  _him_  is such an issue for you, why it makes you want to slap him right across the face.

Except maybe you do. Maybe it's cause  _this_  look, this so him look - the full fucking Felix - is just like that look you saw flicker and die. It's another one you know too well because you've seen it and felt it. That look's nothing more than a get out of jail free card, a pass, an "all's forgiven."

It's a Karma look. One you've sported again and again and  _again_ , every single time that you've realized there's no point in being mad, there's no point in pushing her away, there's no point.

Period.

You can't stay mad cause you can't not have her in your life. And somehow that always wins and somehow that always trumps and somehow, no matter what she does and no matter the stand you make…

That look fades.

Just like it's doing now.

"I knew coming here was probably a bad idea," Felix says (yet he did it anyway.) "And yet, I did it anyway." (Get out of your head!) "One of these days,: he sighs, "I'm gonna have to stop letting Karma talk me into things."

Once upon a time, someone said that Felix was like the dude version of you. Like you with a dick (though, probably, less  _balls_.) This conversation is doing very little to disprove that idea.

"You know, I thought that, maybe, her asking me to come tonight was… I don't know. A sign."

_She_  asked him to come and then  _she_  got all up on  _you_  and nope, you got nothing. Not even the tiniest of clues what was going on in her head or her heart or if the two are even connected. But what you do know?

Felix thought it was a sign. He thought it was a sign from  _Karma_.

You could have told him better. Cause, yeah… you might know a thing or two about signs from  _her_.

And a thing or  _three_  about how easy they are to misread, how simple it is to confuse 'I'm drunk and so I'mma put my tongue in your mouth cause that's what I  _really_  wanna do' with 'I'm drunk and I need to know I can still make you wet - and not from the pool - to validate me and remind me that I'm still pretty and if I'm like this at sixteen, imagine what I'm gonna be like when time (and gravity) (and a few heartless boys) have had their way with me'.

Of course, you thought you were well past even  _noticing_  Karma's signs.

There'a fridge (and a floor) (and a carrot) (and a  _girlfriend_ ) downstairs that might beg to differ.

"I don't know why I thought things would be different," he says and so that's what  _that_  sounds like from, you know, someone  _else_. He shakes his head and slides down the wall, ending up criss-cross-applesauced on your floor and you barely resist the urge to snort at the thought of him  _sauced_. ""I don't know why I  _hoped_  they would be."

Hope springs eternal. You know that. Though, when it comes to Karma Ashcroft, you really wish hope would spring its way right out the nearest fucking window.

Felix tips his head back against the door jamb and sighs. It doesn't look like he's planning on going anywhere anytime soon and you should really, you know, kick him out, make him get up and go (not in the way your kiss probably made him 'get up' at prom) but you can't seem to find it in you to do it. Maybe you feel bad for him, since you've been in his shoes. Maybe you used up all your confrontations down in the kitchen or when you wasted a perfectly good stand your ground moment when you thought he was Karma.

Or, maybe, misery just loves company.

"You have any idea how many times I wished I could see the inside of this room?"

Or maybe misery is just searching for  _more_  misery, as in the not-quite-an-ex but close enough boy who can't resist telling you how you broke his heart.

(At least you did it  _before_  Karma.)

It would be simple - and amusing as hell - to point out that  _this_  room, back during the time when you actually  _enjoyed_  him setting foot in your house (it was a brief period) (like an hour or two) (a Wednesday afternoon, as you recall) was your  _mother's_  room and not  _your_  room but, now that you think about it, he and Farrah always did get along confusingly well.

Felix and Farrah. Ferrah? Falix?

Oh, those are just  _stupid_.

Still a far cry better than Farma though, back  _then,_  it was  _Karma_  who you thought could do better but, after tonight, you're thinking you might have had that backwards.

Or maybe they both  _suck_.

"It's funny," Felix says, though if you're judging strictly on tone, he sounds like it's really anything  _but_. "Back then, I was so sure. I was  _positive_  that if I ended up with anybody, it was gonna be  _you_."

Oh. Yeah. Funny. Just so… funny.

(Like a fucking heart attack.) (Though you did used to imagine Liam having one of those while gettin' wit' whatever little… trollop… he cheated on Lauren with and  _that_ was  _funny_.)

Felix rolls on, as if he didn't hear you and oh, that's probably cause he  _didn't_  cause it's all in your head and  _oh_ , how you wish this whole night was just  _in your head_.

"I thought," he says, and you brace yourself for the inevitable 'you were the one' or 'you were my true love' or 'you really cared for me' or 'I'd at least get the chance to show you that not  _all_  guys are as sexually incompetent as Liam', but,  _instead_ , you get…

"I thought  _you_ were gonna be my Death Star."

Right. Sure. Cause, you know, who wouldn't… wait…

"Your  _what_  now?"

He looks over at you through splayed fingers. "The Death Star?" He sounds incredulous, like there's no way the girl he once (and probably still does) wanted wouldn't know  _that_. "Big round planet looking thing? The Galactic Empire used it to -"

"I know what it  _is_ , Felix," you say, wondering how it is that you ever (even for that one brief moment) thought he was  _hot_. "My dork card's bigger than yours."

That's probably not all that's bigger.

(Reagan did say yours was above average in size.)

(You're totes thinking of your heart.)

(You're totes  _not_.)

"Right," he says, always so fucking  _agreeable_. "So see, I've got this theory."

This is the moment when you wish you'd never asked. Theories are to Felix like plans are to Karma and they're both like  _migraines_  are to you.

"Everyone has one," he says. "A Death Star. Except, see, it's not  _really_ an intergalactic battle station." You don't fucking  _say_. "It's a person.  _Your_  person or my person or whoever's person. The one that sucks you in, like the Death Star's tractor beam did to Luke Skywalker and Han Solo."

You're trying really hard  _not_ to think that those are the names he's given to each of his hands  _or_  to each of Karma's breasts. But, more importantly - and less  _terrifying_  - you're starting to pick up what he's laying down, you see where this is going.

And fuck all, it almost seems… logical.

(Logical is the wrong  _Star_  something or other, but that's besides the point.)

Felix is on a roll now. "So it… they… suck you in and you're caught. And it's a mess and it's all fucked up, but you can't figure out how to get loose."

No, you can't.

"But you keep searching and trying," he says, "hunting for a way out. But every time you think you've made it, the door shuts and you find yourself trapped on a little ledge over a gaping pit, or there's a dozen more stormtroopers who can't aim well enough to put you outta your misery, or you think you've escaped, only to find -"

"Only to find yourself nearly crushed to death," you say, "stuck in a smelly pit that keeps closing in on you while garbage eels swim between your legs."

Felix stares at you for a moment - all hushed and reverent - and you think maybe you've broken him.

"That's either the scariest metaphor for straight sex that I've ever heard," he finally says, "or she Death Starred you even worse than she did me."

He's not wrong. On either count.

But his theory doesn't end there cause, see, Luke and Han and the gang did, eventually, escape. But it wasn't without cost.

"That's the trick," Felix says. "They only escaped because Obi-Wan shut the tractor beam down and then let Vader kill him. It was the sacrifice that did it."

The sacrifice. The thing you've got to lose, if you ever want to be free. It's some part of you, some bit that you truly value or need - your heart or your pride - has to break, it has to  _go_. It's only then that you can finally break free.

"I should have known it was gonna be Karma," he says. "You and I were too obvious. We fit too well, we were too much alike. It was like it was… scripted."

It was. And poorly, you might add. Like as much shit as you give Felix, it's not his fault. It's like he was written just to be an obstacle, just to be the straight man.

_Literally_.

He and Karma were the opposite. They were an accident, thrown together by circumstance and stumbling their way toward feelings and caring and - from what you saw - really incredibly  _bland_  hetero-sex. That, you know from watching way too many rom-coms with Karma, is how OTP's get together.

"I should have known," he says, "I should have seen it coming. She was always gonna be the death of me. It was written in the stars."

(And with dialogue like that, you imagine those stars got cancelled by the network right fucking quick.)

You suppose, maybe, he has a point. But… (oh, how you're sick of buts), you can't help but call out the one little flaw in his analogy.

"I know it sucked, Felix," you say. "But, really, aren't you taking the blame game just a bit too far here? I'm not trying to defend Karma, but your breakup made sense. Distance sucks, it's a bitch to deal with. But you couldn't expect her to just leave New Orleans any more than Karma could expect you to move there." There's that logic again. "It really isn't anyone's fault."

He's got another look on his face. A  _new_  one. It's got little bits of the others, almost like a remix of a song you heard once upon a time. There's still that flicker of anger and that twinge of 'fuck you' but it's stirred up with a shading of 'oh no you  _didn't_ ' and mixed liberally with a  _dash_  of 'you gotta be  _kidding_  me.'

It's not a good look. And, for once, you don't mean that as a not all that thinly veiled shot at his appearance.

" _That's_  what she told you?" Felix asks, and you swear his voice Mariah's it's way up two octaves on that first word. "Karma said we broke up over being long  _distance_?"

(It's  _three_  octaves at the end.)

You nod, even though you're like ninety percent sure he doesn't actually need you to.

Felix slowly shakes his head. "Why am I not surprised?" He runs one hand through his hair (it doesn't so much as move) and glares off into space. "That's not… it isn't… we didn't…"

He's at a loss for words and, for the first time  _ever_ , you actually wish he wasn't.

"The weekend we broke up," he says. "Karma was coming home. It was a long weekend, she had the next Monday and Tuesday off and we were gonna spend all day Saturday and Sunday together."

That sounds sweet. And romantic. And not at all like it would have led to the sort of thing you once saw from a tree, perched like a bird who didn't yet know how to fly.

Felix cracks his knuckles and they snap so loudly you're pretty sure they must have heard it downstairs. "I wanted to surprise her," he says and you can feel your stomach threatening to bottom out cause you think, maybe, you might know where this goes. "So her mom told me where they keep the spare key."

Under the wooden statue of Gaia in the front flower bed, right next to the rainbow flag they put in when Karma came out. The  _first_  time.

"I had a bag of rose petals and a box of fat free chocolates." And doesn't that sound  _yummy_. "It was the peanut butter collection because she doesn't ever get to eat it cause, well…"

Oh, sure. Blame you.

Not like  _that's_  a first.

"I walked into her room to leave it all for her and, as it turns out, she was already there."

And why do you think she wasn't alone?

"But she wasn't alone."

_That's_  why.

Felix pushes off the floor, standing abruptly. His hands are trembling at his side and it's like he's reliving the whole thing all over again. Given the flashbacks and night terrors you've had cause of your time in the tree, you can't really blame him.

" _We_  didn't break up because of long distance, Amy," he says. " _I_  dumped  _Karma_  because she cheated on me and I caught her."

Well… shit. Death Star, it is.

You think - briefly - of hugging him or patting him on the shoulder or slugging him one in the arm, anything that's more manly comfort and less 'let me touch you and reignite all of those feelings you had for me cause  _that's_  just what I need'. Instead, you opt for comforting words from a safe distance.

"I'm sorry, Felix," you say to him and you're not all that surprised to realize that you really do mean it. "Karma never told me."

He nods and then shakes his head and then lets out a long breath and you're not sure if he's in need of some TLC or a good stiff drink. ( _You_  could definitely do with the  _latter_.) "I guess it's not much of a surprise that she didn't," he says. "She wouldn't want you to think less of her and all, but I can't believe Lauren never told you."

Did you say bottoming out before? Like, you know,  _before_? Cause you're pretty sure you just passed bottom and are headed straight for China.

"Why… why would  _Lauren_  tell me?"

Oh… like you don't  _know_.

Felix doesn't  _say_  that but he gives you a look that basically  _screams_  it, but then his eyes, they soften cause he figures it out. He catches on quick, sometimes, even quicker than you, cause, see, you  _do_  know, you  _have_  figured it out - you're not fucking  _stupid_ , at least not for  _this_  - but you so don't  _want_  to know.

Because once you do…

"The weekend we broke up," Felix says, and he really doesn't  _need_  to finish cause your brain has already done the calendar math, you've already added it all up and 1+1 does equal 2 and that, it so happens, is the number of weeks  _after_  they broke up that Karma told you about it.

"Karma said she didn't want to  _burden_  me," you say, the memory of the call bouncing through your mind like a tiny taunting rubber ball. "She said that I'd had enough on my plate what with Lauren moving back in and all."

1+1.

How the fuck had you missed  _that_  two?

"She caught them the same weekend I did," Felix says. "Guess they had a run of bad luck."

You're not so sure it was  _their_  luck that was bad. You're not so sure of that  _at all_.

It runs through your mind then, a replay of moment after moment since that night, since Lauren showed up dripping and broken and cracked on your front step. Every conversation you've had with Karma, every time she asked how Lauren was holding up and if she was over it yet and oh, they weren't together  _that_  long, like only as long as her and Felix and so it shouldn't be the end of the world and maybe she just needs to find someone new cause you remember what Shane always said…

Yeah. Sure. You remember what Shane said. Somewhere, in the back of your head, in the corner of your mind, in the one tiny spot inside you that isn't filled with the simplest, clearest, most utterly irrefutable thought you've ever had.

You're just like Liam.

"I told her I loved her. I said 'I love you' and then she saw…" You feel your legs starting to give out under you and somehow - you'll never be quite sure  _how_  - you stay up and that's only right cause you don't  _deserve_  to fall, you don't deserve to feel sorry for yourself or slump over in the corner and cry the rest of this clusterfuck of a night away.

You're not the  _wronged_  one here.

But you  _are_  the one who can make it  _right_. Or, as right as it ever might be, at least.

You're heading for the door before you even know you're moving and it isn't until Felix reaches out, catching your arm in his (remarkably soft) hand that you pause. "What are you gonna do?" he asks and his voice stays level this time, but you swear there's the faintest little bit of hope running through it.

Or maybe that's just  _you_.

It's his theory, you explain. His analogy or metaphor or whatever the fuck it was, you were never that good in English. The Death Star isn't that far off, you tell him, but there's one bit missing. One key element he forgot.

"It wasn't the end," you say. "When Obi-Wan sacrificed himself and they escaped." That  _wasn't_  the end, not for Chewbacca and Han Solo and not the Princess and the rebellion and, most of all, not for Luke.

There was still one last mission, you remind him, one last probable suicide run, one last go big or go home and then hope the Death Star doesn't show up and blow your home all to fuck shot in the dark of space.

Yeah… the metaphor probably worked a little better before the Death Star felt you up in the kitchen, but the point remains.

"Luke still had to end it," Felix says and you nod. "He had to trust in the Force and fly right into hell and make that once in a lifetime shot."

Yeah. He  _did_.

Felix asks you again. "What are you gonna do?"

The only thing you can, you say. "I'm gonna go get my Skywalker on."


End file.
